The Naked Truth
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock wants Molly just as she decides she no longer wants him. And what does Billy Wiggins have to do with it? Sherlolly. Based on a prompt from INCOMPRENSIBILE. Hope she likes it!


Dr. John H. Watson led a very complicated life. His day job involved dealing with injury, disease, and even death, on a daily basis. His part-time job involved dealing with crime, investigation, and yes, again, death on a somewhat regular basis. At home, he had a collicky infant daughter and a wife who was a retired assassin. And his best friend was the self-described high-functioning sociopath, Sherlock Holmes. Enough to fill anyone's plate, but John wouldn't have it any other way. Except, perhaps, today.

John had decided , after completing morning rounds at St. Bart's hospital, that he would drop in on his close friend, Dr. Molly Hooper, in her pathology lab adjacent to the morgue in the basement of the hospital. Maybe they could lunch together. Molly was always good company, and he looked forward to seeing her. When he entered the lab, he was surprised to hear her whistling. Now, Molly had always tried to be upbeat and friendly. She had even managed to smile, sometimes somewhat painfully, in the face of the slings and arrows of outrageous Sherlockian behavior. He chalked this up to the fact that Molly was hopelessly in love with the formidable mind and the equally formidable good looks of the world's only consulting detective. But whistling was extreme cheerfulness, even for Molly.

"Hello, Molly, what's up?"

Molly had to stop whistling to reply. "John! Good to see you!" There seemed to be exclamation points after every word, and the happy smile seemed just a little forced to John's trained eye.

"Want to catch some lunch?"

"Just give me a minute!" More smiles, more exclamation points. Something was definitely off.

Molly removed her lab coat, but not before she had taken a small paperback book from its pocket, and, grabbing a jacket, accompanied John to a small chips joint around the corner from the hospital.

"So, what with the whistling, Molly?", John started the conversation after they had placed their order.

"Oh, it's the great new self-help book I've been reading," and she handed John her copy of "Get Over It! A Guide to Taking Back Your Life".

John studied the cover of the book, then glanced casually at the chapter headings. Even though he felt he already knew, he just had to ask, "So what are you getting over, Molls?"

Molly's smile slipped just a little before she bravely replaced it with an almost believable semi-grin. "What else? Who else? Sherlock Bloody Holmes!" And with that, she let loose a small sigh, and the smile cracked immediately. "Just like the book says, John, I'm taking back my life. I have accepted the fact that the git doesn't really care about me." She could see that John was about to raise some objection, but spoke over him. "Oh, I know he cares, he just doesn't CARE! He never will, not the way I want him too. So, I'm moving on. I have a career, I have friends, I have a damned cat! It's not the life I would prefer, but it's the life I have. If I give up on Sherlock, I just may find someone else." The plastic smile reappears, but fades again as she asks a surprising question. "John, is Sherlock gay? Have I really been such a bloody fool for all these years? Wasting my time?" Molly didn't really know what answer she would prefer. If he was gay, it meant that no amount of flirting would have done the trick. If he wasn't, well, that meant that he simply was not interested in HER.

John struggled with his reply, because he simply didn't know how to answer her. "You may not believe this Molly, but even after living with him for several years, I simply don't know!"

Molly looked disbelieving. "John, if you're just trying to spare my feelings…."

"Molly, really, I don't know. It was never a subject Sherlock was comfortable discussing. He's not exactly one for locker room gossip. I thought I had it figured out with the Janine incident, but that turned out to be for a case. You know Sherlock will do anything for a case! And Irene Adler? Who knows what went on there? She was certainly taken with him, but as to the reverse, I have no idea! If anything, I would guess that he was asexual."

"Well, that would be a bloody waste!" Molly said this with an almost sneer.

"Funny, that's just what Mary said. Tell me, as a female, is Sherlock really that attractive?"

Molly pictured his darks curls, his almost tropical ocean colored eyes, his cheekbones, and that mouth! All wrapped up in a snug fitting purple shirt and a designer suit! Then she looked at John as if he had two heads.

"Well, I can certainly tell that you're heterosexual!"

"Mary said that, too. I was a bit insulted that she actually needed further proof."

The conversation turned a bit more serious as John said, "Molly, I know Sherlock well enough to know that, despite all the nasty cracks, jibes, and downright insults, he never meant to hurt you. But perhaps it's better that you have decided to move on. I don't believe he's ever going to change. He thinks he's perfect, so why should he?" John tried to lighten the mood. "Molly, I just want you to be happy. Think you can manage that without Sherlock?"

"Oh, I won't be without him, John. We'll be working together, after all. I don't think I can go cold turkey. But I'm giving up on everything else. And just the thought of letting go has been a sort of relief." She gave a small genuine smile at his look of concern. "I'll be fine, really. I already feel stronger, and better. I've learned to choose my battles, and this is one battle from which I am definitely retreating!"

The following afternoon John received a text from Mrs. Hudson.

SHERLOCK HAS BEEN ACTING STRANGELY- MARTHA HUDSON

HOW THE BLOODY HELL CAN YOU TELL? - JW

LANGUAGE, JOHN! - MARTHA HUDSON

SORRY, BUT YOU GET MY POINT - JW

YES, BUT CAN YOU COME OVER? - MARTHA HUDSON

John trudged up the stairs to 221B Baker Street after finishing up his clinic hours. He really wanted to be on his way home to Mary and the baby, but he first had to deal with his other baby. Sherlock was curled up on the couch, dressed only in his pajamas and robe despite the fact that it was after five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Have you come at Mrs. Hudson's behest?"

"She concerned. She says you're acting strangely"

"How the bloody hell can she tell?"

"My sentiments exactly!"

Sherlock sat up and scowled. So far John thought everything looked normal. John settled himself down in his chair and waited for Sherlock to continue.

"Everything has changed!"

"Everything changed ages ago, Sherlock. You were dead for two years. You came back. I had moved out. I got married. My wife shot you. I had a kid. These were all considerable changes. Why are you just dealing with this now?"

Sherlock made an almost dismissive gesture. "I mean everything has really changed!"

"What are you really going on about, Sherlock?" John was now losing his patience.

"I asked Molly out to dinner."

Well, that was indeed a change. But given her new "no fraternization outside of work" policy, John was curious to hear her response.

"What did she say?"

"She said that she had already eaten!"

"And…" John prompted.

"I said, 'perhaps another time?"

"And…"

"She hesitated, seemed to consult some rabbit-eared paperback, then looked me straight in the eye and said, 'Thank you, Sherlock, but no." Sherlock glared at his friend, "Don't you dare say 'And' again John, or I shall surely punch you!" But the detective continued without the obvious prompt. "I got her coffee, John, and all she said was 'thank you'! I tried to help her on with her lab coat, and she all but ignored me! John, I told you, everything has changed!"

"Sherlock, her behavior seems perfectly normal. Friendly even, by the standards you set for yourself…"

"That's my point! Do pay attention, John. This is not me we are talking about. This is Molly Hooper. By her own standards, especially in regard to me, this behavior was downright rude, bordering on abusive!"

"Look, mate, use that monstrosity you call a brain and figure it out. Consider the possibility that after years of your superior attitude, your insults, your phoney flirting to get your way, well, maybe Molly has had enough!"

"Enough of me? Impossible!"

"Not only possible, but highly likely, you insufferable git!"

"Sherlock, I firmly believe she has given up on you. Face it, there was never any possibility that she was going to get what she wanted from you and…"

"Of course there was!"

John Watson, who saw death tragic death every day, who did two tours of duty in Afghanistan, who was married to a hit woman, for god's sake, was well and truly shocked.

"What did you just say?"

"Of course there was..er...is. I was just biding my time," Sherlock spoke a little sheepishly. "Why would she give up on me so soon?"

"Seven years, Sherlock. Seven long, bloody years!"

"Two don't count. I was away dismantling Moriarty's network!"

"Okay. Five bloody years, Sherlock! Plus the fact that she thinks you may be gay." John mumbled the last sentence.

"Where would she get an idea like that? Mrs. Hudson! I'll kill the bloody woman!"

Giving the look on the detective's face, John was afraid he might do just that, so he moved quickly to diffuse the situation. "Have you ever given her indication that you're not? How was she supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know? Hell, I don't even know!"

Sherlock looked at him in disbelief. "John, did I ever make a pass at you during the entire time we lived together?"

"Maybe you didn't think I was pretty enough?"

"John, you're very pretty, you're just not my type. Mainly because I AM NOT GAY!" This last phrase was shouted, mainly for Mrs. Hudson's benefits, John assumed. "So, what's the plan? What do I do now, Mr Ladies Man?"

"You're asking for advice? You never take my advice!"

"That's because it's usually worthless. But I suppose I must bow to your experience in matters of the heart."

"The heart? Are we really talking about the heart, here? Not just some bruised ego thing?"

"Yes, John, the heart. Do keep up!"

"What about sentiment being something experienced by the losing side?"

"Right. I'm conceding defeat. Happy now?"

"Well, yes, actually," John actually grinned at his friend's discomfort. "Just tell her, Sherlock. I know she hasn't cut you out entirely. You still have a working relationship with her. Next time you see her, just tell her."

"At the morgue? Hardly conducive to romance. Affectionate words spoken over a dissected and rotting corpse."

"Actually, that sounds rather appropriate for you two. But if you're uncomfortable discussing it at her workplace, have her come here. Request a delivery of body parts. Doesn't she run a little organs to go delivery service for you?" Sherlock thought about John's suggestion, but glowered at his next comment. "Perhaps, an appropriately suggestive body part?" John smirked as he delivered the last line!

"Thank you, John. I shall consider your advice. Most of it, in any case." With that, Sherlock lifted John from his chair and ushered him to door. "Have a good evening!"

Sherlock texted Molly almost immediately.

I NEED A FRESH KIDNEY - SH

I AM AT HOME. THE ONLY KIDNEYS HERE ARE MINE. DO YOU PREFER THE LEFT OR RIGHT?- MH

Ah, she was joking with him. A good sign.

NO HURRY. IF YOU DROP ONE OFF TOMORROW ON YOUR WAY HOME I WILL PAY THE CAB FARE - SH

FINE - MH

Molly was relieved about the cab fare. One saw many strange things on the London Underground, but people may have still been disturbed to find themselves riding next to a cooler full of human organs.

Sherlock spent the next morning and most of the afternoon preparing for Molly's visit. He had almost properly cleaned the flat. Most of the human remains had been removed from the fridge, and the chemicals had been removed from the spice cabinet in the kitchen. The formaldehyde had been safely stored under the sink, and any explosives removed to a shed in the garden, despite Mrs. Hudson's objections. But all of his well laid plans collapsed with the arrival of Billy Wiggins.

Wiggins came knocking at Sherlock's door at just before five o'clock that afternoon, but it wasn't really the knock that announced his presence. The stench did, followed closely by his landlady's shouted epithets. Sherlock heard footsteps pounding up the stairway, and waited with trepidation for the knock he knew was coming. Wiggins stood before him, covered in last night's dinner, or perhaps the night before. Added to the intoxicating aroma of eau d'undergound, an enticing combination of urine, feces, and tobacco spittle. Billy looked distraught, as well he should.

"Mr. Holmes, I didn't know where else to go," Billy said as he staggered against Sherlock's chest, depositing some of his disgusting detritus, and its accompanying fragrance, onto Sherlock's shirt, the snugly fitting purple one that had worn for Molly's benefit. He truly looked awful. "Me and Chas were following that fella you asked us to. We was trying to be careful, but he spotted us. Him and a coupla mates jumped us. Chas got away, but I think they drugged me! I got dumped down by the embankment. When I woke up, no one wanted to get anywhere near me. But I mentioned your name to a cabbie, and he dropped me here. I'm sorry, but I got no cash, no way to get back to my squat. Can I clean up? Borrow some clothes maybe? Some cash?"

Sherlock, realizing that it was, to a certain extent, his responsibility, and not being the total git that most people believed him to be led Wiggins to his bathroom and started running water. He had to get him cleaned up and out of the flat before Molly arrived. The smell and sight of Bill Wiggins was not exactly romance friendly.

While Wiggins was in the bath, Sherlock went in the bedroom to try to dig up something that would fit him. He threw some clothes on the bed that he thought might due, and headed back to the bath Billy was lounging in the hot water, and singing a song from "Dreamgirls", an image Sherlock would quickly delete from his mind palace. "I've left some clothing on my bed. Take your pick, but please be quick about it. I'm expecting company." Sherlock then picked up the discarded clothing and, holding it at arms' length, made his way down the stairs and out the rear door to the garden. He quickly decided that the items were not salvageable, and that the only way to completely eradicate the stench arising from them was to burn the lot. He then spent some time locating the fire starter which he knew Mrs. Hudson kept in the shed in preparation for a barbecue, which everybody but her knew would never happen. He then returned to the pile of clothing that he had deposited in the unused firepit. Looking down at his own shirt, he realized that, at least to his own persnickety standards, the shirt was a total loss. He removed it quickly, added it to the pile, and started his small bonfire.

Unfortunately, at that moment Dr. Molly Hooper arrived at 221B Baker Street carrying a small cooler bearing the logo of a national brewery, but containing not ale, but a human kidney. As she knocked on the front door, Billy Wiggins was making his way from the bathroom to the Sherlock's bedroom clad only in a towel and Sherlock was in the back garden fanning the flames of a rather smelly fire. There being no answer to her knock downstairs, Molly decided to go right up to Sherlock's flat. She knocked briefly, and entered the flat. Wiggins, hearing the door open, naturally assumed it was Sherlock, and came out of the bedroom, still clad only in a towel, and saying, "I was wondering where you'd got to mate. I missed you," he added jokingly. Molly then took in the sight of a naked man coming out of Sherlock's bedroom, put two and two together, and came up with five. Bill Wiggins, who had amazed even Sherlock Holmes with his powers of deduction, quickly assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that there was an extremely attractive woman standing in front of him, checking him out, and came to his next conclusion that he should establish the fact that, although he was currently naked in a male friend's flat, he was certainly not into THAT sort of thing. Just then Sherlock entered and stood behind Molly, shirtless and wearing his rather tightly fitted black trousers. Molly, startled, turned to look at Sherlock's slender but certainly enticing naked chest, only to find that Sherlock was glaring intently at the naked Billy Wiggins. It was just then that Wiggins decided to make his move, and taking a step closer to them, winked suggestively and said, "Hi, sweetie!"

Molly let out a self-conscious giggle, set down the cooler, and spoke nervously, "I'll just leave this here, then." She then turned toward the door, but bumped into Sherlock, who grabbed hold of her arms. Wiggins continued to approach, "Nice of ya to bring us some drinks, luv. But feel free to 'ang around!" Then he reached for the cooler. Molly was trapped between an almost naked man and the completely naked chest of Sherlock Holmes. This was definitely a rather warped version of one of her recurrent dreams!

"What are you doing with my pathologist?" Sherlock bellowed.

But Billy was paying no attention at all because he was trying to figure out why there was a bloody lump of something frozen in the cooler, and not the expected thirst quencher. "Looks like we're not gonna 'ave a party after all."

Sherlock took a look at Molly's white face, made a deduction, and started sputtering, "It's not what you think! Really! I made him take his clothes off… Strike that! He smelled terrible...Strike that, too! When I joined him in the bathroom...Oh, Lord, strike that, too! He needed some cash desperately… Oh, god, I'm lost! Billy, help me out here."

"Why, Sherlock? You seem to be doing so well on your own." Billy still sounded distracted by the lack of ale.

Just then Mrs. Hudson chose to put in an appearance. She surveyed the assemblage, taking in the two men in varying states of undress, and smiled knowingly.

"Mrs. Hudson, do not say a word. Not one word. If you do, I shall be obliged to blow up your garden shed!" It was the first threat that came to his mind, remembering the explosives he had recently stored there. He then took three deep breaths, while everybody looked at him questioningly.

"Molly, sit down!" he pointed at the couch in a commanding way. Molly complied, looking uncomfortable.

"Wiggins, get dressed!" Then he shoved Billy towards his bedroom, which did nothing to assuage Molly's apprehension.

"Mrs. Hudson, get out!", he shouted, but added "Please!" at the older woman's stricken look.

The landlady left, followed shortly by Billy Wiggins, who stopped long enough to collect twenty pounds from Sherlock. Once again, this did nothing at all to improve Molly's mood, as she sat on the couch dreading the next words to come out of Sherlock's mouth, even if she thought she had prepared herself for them.

"Molly, I love you," Sherlock said quietly. "See, I told you it was not what you thought!" he added in a smug tone, proud, once again, to be right!

If he had expected her to melt into his arms, he was sorely disappointed. "You bloody wanker, after seven years?! Seven years!"

"I was waiting for the right moment!" He settled down on the couch next to her. "And besides, you shouldn't count the two years I was supposedly dead," he pointed out in a reasonable tone.

"And you thought this was the right moment?" She couldn't take her eyes off his naked chest.

"My eyes are up here, Molly!" She blushed.

"I know where your bloody eyes are, Sherlock!" And then she couldn't drag her eyes away from his.

"Well, I couldn't really come up with a more opportune time, could I? I mean, naked man, bare chest, exchange of cash, know-it-all landlady. It was either tell you I love you, or tell you I was into alternate life styles, right?"

Sherlock then took her in his arms, and kissed her to remove any lingering doubts.

"Believe me?"

"I don't know. Convince me some more."

He laid back on the couch, pulling her onto him. She played with his chest as he fiddled with her hair and nibbled greedily at her neck. "

"What did happen to your shirt?"

"I burned it."

"Not the purple one?"

"Sorry."

"I'll have to buy you a new one. I loved that shirt."

"I know, that's why I wore it so often. But don't bother. It was very expensive."

"Worth every penny," Molly sighed as she curled her fingers into his hair.


End file.
